


Experienced

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Smoker!destiel, college!destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries weed for the first time with his college room mate Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experienced

“Have you ever tried weed?” Castiel says after a moment or two.

Dean is trying to study but the jackass upstairs is playing ‘Like A Virgin’ by Madonna, and who can deal with that? Not him, that’s for sure.

Dean threw his pen on his desk, fell back on his chair and ran his hands through his hair. How could the floor manager allow this? It was the middle of the week - finals week, even. He actually wouldn’t be surprised if Ash was at the party himself, getting drunk, whistling at college girls. It was the perfect heaven for him, that’s for sure. The music was so damn loud, and Madonna was really overdoing the whistle note. Coming up on the first entire hour of Madonna, he groaned at himself and plopped face first onto his bed. He’d be screaming by now if his headache didn’t hurt as much.

“Make it stop. Just make it stop!” He whines to no one in general. He finally gives up with a huff and puts on some fuzzy socks, making his way to the floor above himself. He quickly finds the dorm room, though there’s no sign of a party. At this point it’s so late, nearing maybe two in the morning. He’s really not prepared to deal with one single asshole.

He knocks, though, putting his hands on his hips and looking at his fuzz-clad feet. The door opens and smoke practically rolls out in a cloud. He erupts in a fit of coughs and tears almost spill from his eyes. He’s bent over with one knee on the floor before it finally dissipates.

“Sorry, man.” He hears, “Can’t give much warning, though, can I?” There’s a hand on his back, just as strong as he expected from the deep, gruff voice. It’s hauling back up, which he’s grateful for because he still has his hands on his throat.

He’s dragged into the room before he can properly stomp his foot in protest. He hits the soft bed and hears the door shut. It must’ve been a slam, for the music is louder than ever and right next to his ears. He sees the iPod jack and feverishly gropes for it, really wanting to turn that screech off.

There’s a burp to the left of him, and he turns to see. The first thing he sees is pale, wide feet, and clean toe nails. He goes up farther and sees ripped jeans. So much for the spruceness. Next is an old band shirt for one he’s never heard of, his stomach sticking out at the bottom. Arms, thick but pale, reaching up for a yawn at pink and chapped lips. Squinted eyes, dark tousled hair. What a turn on.

“C'mon man, just came to turn off the music. Not looking to stay too long.” Dean says, shaking his head and starting to rise from the bed.

“You could stay a while, so why don;t you?” He hears, and he looks up again. The man’s body is totally relaxed, weight on his left foot and hip. He’s smiling, and now Dean can see his dulled out blue eyes. They’re red at the edges and slightly watery, but blue, he’s sure. He thinks. It’s two in the morning. He won’t be able to study anymore at this point.

He plops back down on the bed. He garbs for the remote stashed by the pillow.

“Any good movies you’d like to watch?” Dean says, looking up into curious eyes.

“I was hoping you’d be up for more music.” Castiel says, almost apologetic, but still hopeful. Dean taps his head, to which Castiel responds with a curt nod. He plops onto he bed next to Dean, setting up a long pillow along the wall. He settles down with a hand on his belly, fingers lightly scratching, like a soothing mechanism.

“Have you ever tried weed?” Castiel says after a moment or two.

“No, but I’m guessing you’ve had your fair share.” This is when Dean motions to the ashtray on the bedside table, next to a lighter and what he thinks to be the things you wrap them in. He sighs. What a great college experience, senior and he still hasn’t tried cannabis.

“I could share my fair share with you.” Castiel says, poking Dean on the nose with one of his light, delicate fingers. He giggles, but it’s low and rumbling. Dean smiles at him.

He picks up the stuff on the bedside table and asks Castiel where the rest of the ‘stuff’ - he stresses the word like a rookie - is, and Castiel pulls it form beneath his bed, it’s in a tin shaped like the plant. Dean snorts at how cheesy this all must look to an outside eye.

-

An Hour Later

“No…no no no no.” Dean shakes his head and has a serious look on his face. He gulps before he continues. “Hulk Hogan is not his real name.” Dean says, as if he’s relaying to Castiel that his parents have just died.

“You’re fucking kidding me!” It sounds fake, but that’s just the dope.

“I’m not! Promise! Yeah,” He says with a sigh. “His real name is Terry Bollea. Italian.” He takes another drag, and yet another coughing fit ensues.

What a wild roller coaster this night has been. Another half hour and they’re listening to Elton John through the speakers. Castiel can’t make out much of the words through his state, but he’s sure does like how it makes the world wavy. Dean is looking at Castiel with heart eyes as he mumbles along, barely coherent, but trying as he might.

Castiel asks Dean if he trusts him, to which Dean responds with wide eyes and a hesitant, barely audible, “Yes.”

Castiel rests his hands on either sides of the man’s face and positions him. He’s got a mouth full of smoke. He suctions his lips and presses them to Dean’s nose. He quickly opens Dean’s mouth as he exhales, the smoke traveling from Dean’s nose and out out of his mouth.

He pulls back to watch it through teary eyes and a series of coughs. Amazing. The smoke floats through the air like the unspoken words between the two men in those next moments.

In the next couple of hours there are sloppy kisses, kisses on bellies, accidental snorts on said bellies. It’s the cutest high disaster never seen. They don’t fall asleep right after sex, because Castiel makes Dean lay in the crook of his shoulder, scratching Dean’s head and hair like he had his own stomach in the beginning of their adventure.

Dean had worshiped Castiel, sucking his cock and tending to his nipples. Oh, how round deep, and perky. He couldn’t blame it on the drugs, he had no intention of doing so. It was eight in the morning when there was a knock on the door, fumbling, falling trying to get pants on, the whole nine.

Castiel treated Dean to coffee, apologized for the music, overall it was great college experience for Dean. He wasn’t disappointed, in fact, he couldn’t be happier. When college ended, Dean went to a technicians course to earn his training for building and designing cards. You could say Castiel was more of a house wife, and you’s be right. If all house wives taught yoga on weekdays and smoked pot with their fiances on the weekend.


End file.
